The Weekend in Foolish Attention

Bits and bytes of the week

SPIDERMAN? SPIDERMAN?!! In Wichita over the past weekend, my niece hit me up on text before I hopped in the car to travel the 700 miles. Deadpool & Wolverine? At a drive-in? Saturday night? YES!

Sitting next to my sister with an assumption that she agreed to the movie of choice, she leans over, at least thirty minutes into the movie, and asks, “Is that Spiderman?” At first, I thought she was fucking with me. Then I realized her question was genuine. “No! That’s Deadpool. It’s the title of the movie! Deadpool and that’s Wolverine!”

We laughed the rest of the weekend about it.

CONFIDING OR CONFESSING? I know I alarmed my mom this weekend when I casually admitted that three out of four days, I wake up feeling completely badass, ready to take on anything and everything the world has to offer, in full Rock n’ Roll mode while that fourth day, I wake up to a sense of almost debilitating, crippling self doubt and despair. It even shook my dad a bit.

On that fourth day, I have to choose to hole up like a hermit and hide from the din and cacophony just outside the door or gin myself back up and fake it til I make out that daunting corridor and convince myself I am that badass I was just yesterday.

It doesn’t alarm me nor should it concern my parents—my guess is that most people’s ratio is two for two so I’m slightly above average on the self confidence scale. Not terribly distinct from most humans and a notch in a positive direction. No worries. I tend to get more done on those three days than most accomplish in a week.

“Do stuff. Be clenched, curious. Not waiting for inspiration’s shove or society’s kiss on your forehead. Pay attention. It’s all about paying attention. Attention is vitality. It connects you with others. It makes you eager. Stay eager.”~ Susan Sontag

GETTING BACK UP ON THE HORSE. Yup. Met a woman in the park. Had a brief, flirty conversation. Asked her out for lunch. She was not my type. She was pretty and funny but no tattoos. She was 53 years old. Blonde. Not a lot of makeup. Dressed like an adult. I almost bailed. Decided to be open minded, less guarded, and, at the very least, have a decent lunch at a place I hadn’t been to before.

That first date is the opportunity to frame who you are to someone new. Not necessarily fake yourself but to put forward the parts of yourself you’d like them to see.

“I did a search on you, you know,” she smiled meaningfully.

“It’s that era.”

“Did you search me?”

“Nope. I figured we’d see each other and figure it out.”

“So… what’s the deal with your wife becoming a hooker?”

I laughed. “Ah, that. Yes. Well, that conversation can come on date three. Otherwise, you should just buy the book, right?”

“Embarrassed about it?”

“No. If I was embarrassed I wouldn’t have published a book about it. I’d rather focus on other stuff than my sordid marital past.”

As if on cue, she reveals to me that she is a closeted Republican. I do not take the bait and ask her about Trump because, hey, I might still get laid in the near future, amiright? Then she launches into a thirty-minute rambling screed about her ex, apparently an abusive South Side Irish mobster. She’s still really angry about it and I don’t push to deviate her from the tale.

The person she wanted me to see was a closeted Republican who is still furious over her abusive ex-husband.

“Well, I have to get to work. It’s been nice.”

“Are we going out again?”

“No. No. I’m certain you and I are looking for someone different. It was nice to meet you and I’ll see you in the park.”

“At least you’re honest about it. Sort of a first date ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ thing.”

“No. It’s you. Or rather, there’s not a thing wrong with you or me, it just isn’t the fit for either of us.”

I paid the check and split.

We will be creating so much electricity that you'll be saying, please, please, president, we don't want any more electricity. We can't stand it. You'll be begging me. No more electricity, sir. We have enough. We have enough. — Donald Trump

THE GHOST OF ELECTIONS PAST. Admittedly, I’m optimistic about the Harris/Walz ticket winning the election in November. Balancing that optimism is the recollection of how confident we all were that Hillary was going to trounce the reality TV star and the slow crawl into a sense of deafening despair the night it was called for Trump in 2016.

We were holding a WBEZ election night party at the Haymarket Pub & Brewery. The room was packed with excited, almost gleeful, Democrats. We had joke bits, conversations, contests. It was a blast until it wasn’t. As the returns kept coming in we went from enthusiastic to nail biting to defeated.

Trump is not an easy opponent and, as soon as we get arrogant, he will pull a rabbit from his hat and dash our hopes to the side of a wall like a box of delicate China plates.

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That’s the week! It’s been busy but I’m having great days and relaxing nights so I have zero complaints! Hope you can say the same.